


moniker

by wrino



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 02:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrino/pseuds/wrino
Summary: Tadashi prides himself on being a generally understanding and levelheaded person.But Tsukki ishisnickname, damn it.





	moniker

**Author's Note:**

> did you see yamaguchi’s face when koganegawa called tsukishima “tsukki” at that practice match with dateko. _did you_
> 
> anyway, hi! i wanted to write something short and fun before working on my multichaps (and on college applications, yikes), so here's some fluffy tsukyam.

Tadashi had always thought there were certain things only he and Tsukishima were allowed to enjoy – specific jokes, the godly combination of day-old fries and strawberry syrup, and maybe that one Jurassic Park scene Tsukishima insists is his favorite even though it’s the least memorable part to Tadashi. Shirts with foreign food on them, shirts with the moon on them, Tadashi’s most ticklish body parts that _Tsukishima is not allowed to touch under any circumstances_ , Tsukki.

Staking his claim on that last one – now the two most familiar syllables on Tadashi’s willing and capable tongue – had felt right years ago, feels right even in the present.

But in the past few months alone, some – people who’d known Tsukishima for a fraction of the time Tadashi had – had thoughtlessly taken the moniker and had morphed it into their own unfamiliar versions. Bokuto, during the training camp, said it too quickly; he rushed through it so the syllables blended into an almost unintelligible word. Kuroo said it a bit too slowly, and stripped it of any genuine fondness so it didn’t sound like anything more than provocation.

And most recently, Koganegawa, right before their practice match against Dateko, had emphasized _the wrong syllable._

It’s shallow, he knows. Nothing of Tsukishima’s is really his, much less a nickname that anyone can surmise and pronounce. It’s just a nickname. He’ll get over it.

“Red?” Tsukishima says, holding up an open jar of paint for Tadashi to inspect. He examines the poster on the floor before shaking his head.

“It’s too harsh with the orange.”

Tsukishima sighs, placing the jar in between them without closing it. Tadashi picks up the cap from Tsukishima’s lap – it leaves a vague, incomplete circle on Tsukishima’s black slacks. They both wince when they see it.

“That’s never getting out,” Tsukishima groans. He dabs at the stain with the towel they’d laid down earlier for any paint they would spill on the floor. “Tell me why you volunteered us for this again?”

“It was either this or wear butler costumes in the sweltering heat, and I don’t want to die wearing a tailcoat.”

“Ah.”

“You should try cleaning that in the bathroom,” Tadashi says, poking at the splotch of red Tsukishima had given up cleaning. “The paint’s probably water-based.”

At that, Tsukishima hums, already walking towards the door. While waiting, Tadashi absentmindedly swirls his wet brush into a random smudge on the plastic palette he’d borrowed from Yachi. He frowns when he realizes he’d unintentionally mixed almost the exact shade of bluish green on Dateko’s uniform.

Random memories of the match resurface, but it is only Koganegawa’s “Tsukki” Tadashi really dwells on. He realizes, half-amused and half-terrified at his subconscious, that with the bright yellow paint above it and the stark white of the palette, the amorphous blob kind of looks like Koganegawa.

Tadashi should be glad Tsukishima’s making friends. When it had only been him before, now there are dozens of people who see Tsukishima as anything other than a smug asshole. Bright, beautiful, incredible Tsukishima deserves it more than anyone Tadashi knows, and he should be proud his best friend’s finally starting to come out of his shell.

And Tadashi _is_ all those things. Of course he is. But he can’t shake the feeling he’s lost something especially special, with the most important person in the entire universe. Even if it _is_ something as trivial as a childhood nickname.

“That could work.”

He jolts at Tsukishima’s sudden proximity. His own brush in hand, Tsukishima dips into the color. He fills in a small white space in the poster with the green Tadashi had mixed, and looks up at him for approval after the fifth stroke.

Tadashi nods for him to continue, but. That color is really starting to bother him.

“Tsukki,” he tries, if only so he can hear himself say it. It’s not too fast, not too slow, and his diction is as perfect as ever, but for the first time, the name leaves the slightest bitter taste in his mouth.

Tsukishima’s hum back is inquisitive. Tadashi briefly contemplates lying, but acid eats at the corners of his mouth and pulls his lips into an even deeper frown.

“When did Koganegawa start calling you that?”

“Tsu – the nickname?” A faint pink dusts the tip of Tsukishima’s ear. Tadashi doesn’t remember Tsukishima ever saying the word out loud. “I don’t remember. The training camp, probably.”

“And you didn’t tell him to stop?”

“Even if I did, he wouldn’t stop.”

“Oh.” Tadashi tries to distract himself by washing his brush clean of Dateko’s colors. He watches the hue pierce the clear water when he dips the paintbrush in the glass, like liquid smoke in an upside-down sky. The water turns murky after only a few seconds.

“Does it bother you?” Tsukishima asks. He paints black text at the side of the poster with only the very tip of his brush.

“No,” Tadashi answers, too quickly.

“It doesn’t bother you,” he repeats, stopping to stare pointedly at Tadashi.

He sighs. “It bothers me.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue.

A beat. “Call me Kei, then.”

Tadashi’s head shoots up at that. He scrunches his eyebrows so much it hurts.

At Tadashi’s apparent surprise, Tsukishima clears his throat. “If anyone can call me Kei, it’s you,” he continues.

“Kei,” Tadashi tries out. The word becomes exponentially more familiar as it dances on his tongue over and over, and he continues as he grins: “Kei, Kei, Kei, Kei.”

Each syllable turns Tsukishima’s pale face a deeper shade of red. Oh, Tadashi’s _never_ going back to Tsukki now. Anyone can have that; _Kei_ is entirely and irrevocably _his_.

One eye closed, Tadashi holds up the jar of red paint so it covers one of Tsukishima’s cheeks from where he sits. It doesn’t blend at all – Tsukishima’s blush is more gentle cotton candy than bleeding vermillion.

“Twins,” Tadashi says anyway.

“Shut up.” Hastily, Tsukishima covers his face, letting his paintbrush clatter to the floor. It’s painfully futile, since the flush is and has always been the most prominent on his ears, which remain fortunately unhidden. Tadashi is enjoying this. He’s enjoying this very much.

“Never,” he says. Sweetly, he adds: “Kei.”

Tsukishima groans, turning so his back is to Tadashi. He can still see his ears; they’re so red now, they’re like ripe strawberries on dry grass.

“I changed my mind. You aren’t allowed to call me that anymore.”

“O- _kay_ ,” he replies, trying to sound resigned. He even huffs, but Tsukishima obviously sees through his bluff when he whines again.

“ _Ass_. You did that on purpose.”

Tadashi laughs. He crawls so he’s in front of Tsukishima, and tries to extract his boyfriend’s hands from his face. When Tsukishima doesn’t budge, Tadashi leans over to promptly kiss the miniscule slit where the two hands meet. If possible, Tsukishima’s ears get even redder, and Tadashi’s smile gets even wider.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting this go, sorry,” he whispers into Tsukishima’s hands, still trying to pry them off. Slowly, Tsukishima relents, and Tadashi pins his hands to the floor, pressing his lips against Tsukishima’s still-pink nose.

“Fine,” Tsukishima huffs out when Tadashi leans back, picking up the brush on the floor. He stands to return to his previous spot, but Tsukishima looks up just then, the most sinister of smiles spread across his face.

“Tadashi.”

Blissful, Tadashi feels the heat reach his cheeks before his smile does.

There are some things only he and Kei are allowed to enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> they're in love
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](www.wrino.tumblr.com). yell at me and stuff


End file.
